The Ticking Compass
by thebluecray0n
Summary: She's a princess and there's a pirate on her balcony.
1. Chapter 1

"I know this is immensely improper," the pirate standing on her balcony said, "but if I could trouble you for just a moment of your time." He was smiling pleasantly, but slightly out of breath, his voice tinged with an unfamiliar accent.

She was in the middle of getting _dressed_, her white nightgown the only garment she had on with a corset lying on her bed. The pirate didn't even have the decency to blush or apologize, instead he grinned at her and took a step into the room.

"You don't need to fear, princess. I never take advantage of a woman," he said, like this would endear her to him. "I just need your help with something and then I'll disappear, far away, on my ship and you'll never hear from me again."

Maybe her reaction time was stupidly slow because he was so cavalier, landing on her balcony without a sound and then strutting into her bedchambers like he owned the place. He looked extremely out of place, wrapped up in black leathers that squeaked when he moved, though his shirt was only half buttoned, exposing a chest ripe with dark hair.

"Get. Out." Emma seethed, reaching for the dagger she always kept under her mattress.

The pirate's eyebrows rose and he cocked his head to the side, but stayed put. "Well, well, princess." He pursed his lips, studying her silently, his eyes trailing her body. "The rumors do not do you justice, I'm afraid."

_Was she supposed to swoon? _Emma wondered, gripping the blade tighter. She wasn't eager to commit murder so early in the morning, but alas, if she had to…

"You have three seconds to turn around and get the hell out of my room the way you came."

The pirate did not seem as inclined. He chuckled under his breath, moving towards her vanity where a variety of jewels were spread out. A prince from their trade partner in the east was due to arrive in a few hours, probably seeking her hand, probably not going to receive it, but nevertheless she was expected to smile and curtsy and keep her mouth shut. She was not to talk about writers and painters or weapons. Especially weapons.

He held up a ring with a rock so big it weighed more than some of her necklaces. It glinted in the rising sun and he whistled appreciatively. "Where'd this one come from?"

"A prince from the isles." Emma found herself saying, though she had no idea why. "I'm sure it is worth more than anything you've pillaged before."

The pirate turned towards her, dropping the ring back onto her desk. "I only pillage from the highest of dwellings. I might be the richest man you've ever met. Original Picassos and Monets, jewels from farther lands than this realm." He eyed the painting that hung above her bed in distaste, a fairly bland landscape her father had approved of. "I'm a very picky man, your highness."

He bowed.

Emma registered the thinly veiled insult.

Tired, she threw the dagger. It hit its mark beautifully, soaring just fractions of a centimeter to the left of his face and landing in the wall with a deadly sound. She crossed the room and pulled it out, pushing it against his neck, backing him against the vanity. "I don't have to miss next time."

He smirked at her, and his breath was warm on her face. "I believe you, princess."

"Out," she ordered, nodding towards the balcony he had unceremoniously scaled.

He held up his hands, offering a smile, and Emma saw how blue his eyes were. As blue as the sea he undoubtedly treasured, as blue as the rock in that ring he had been admiring. They were staring back into hers and she wondered what he needed help with, why he was even here when pirates had barely bothered their shores.

He quirked an eyebrow at her, a husky laugh escaping his throat. "Are you sure you're a princess, lass? You seem more like a pirate to me."

Her jaw clenched before she said something she'd regret. His remark about Picassos and Monets had grabbed her attention instantly, so did the sword he had hanging from his hips. Art and weapons in one man and in one life, if she ever was brave enough to take it. She was tempted to ask him, to gleam something about his life, some detail to sate her. To show her that the life she sometimes dreamed about was not all that she was cracking it up to be. She knew there were millions of people outside the gates of the castle who wanted to trade places with her. She should not have been as ungrateful as she was, shirking her duties at royal events, instead shoving her nose in a book or blackmailing an army officer into giving her secret lessons.

The pirate was still looking at her. She couldn't tell if he knew what she was thinking, his face was inscrutable. The tiny scar on his cheek caught her attention—she had no scars. Her body was devoid of any markings, any stories to represent the life she'd lived. Because, somewhere deep in her mind, she was convinced she hadn't lived. Not really, not truly.

"Killian Jones," the pirate said, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Excuse me?" Her voice came out sharper than she meant it to, and the pirate quirked a smile at her, revealing perfect teeth and lines around his mouth.

"My name, lass," he said, softer, "If you were curious."

She wasn't.

She was.

"Or," he added, "If you'd like to keep track of my movements once I vacate your bedchambers."

She didn't.

She did.

She didn't.

"Captain Killian Jones," he added, when she still hadn't said anything.

All the lessons on decorum she had been subjected to came bubbling the surface and she found herself reluctantly saying, "Emma Swan."

Though her teachers would have frowned against her wielding a dagger, much less standing this close to a pirate.

The smile grew. "I am well aware, though this is quite an introduction."

She looked towards the balcony. He really did need to go.

But he seemed intent on staying as he said, "I must admit, that nightdress is quite fetching."

Emma resisted the urge to blush as she realized she wasn't even wearing any undergarments and if the light landed on the dress in just the right way it would leave nothing to the imagination. And soon enough maids would be arriving to check on her progress and help her into the corset.

It would not due for them to find a pirate in her room.

But she couldn't kick him out without knowing, "What did you need help with?"

"Ah, that," Killian breathed, her dagger still pressed against his throat—though he seemed to be enjoying it.

(Emma didn't want to admit she was, too.)

She found herself staring at his lips. She imagined his stubble tickling her face as he kissed her, and it was so wrong, especially when she wasn't wearing any _underwear_, and now that she had remembered this fact it suddenly made the encounter so much more exciting. And it was harder to ignore the pull of his lips and his breathy voice and intoxicating accent.

"Nasty business, really," he said, grinning at her. He shifted slightly, still pressed up against the vanity. His voice hitched, his eyes trailing to her lips as he said, "Inconsequential now."

She increased pressure on the blade. "What was it?"

A satisfied smile graced his features, "There's more pirate in you than you know, lass."

It did unholy things to her.

Damn him.

She pulled the dagger back and stepped away from him, in an effort to regain control of herself. This was ridiculous—and improper on too many levels. It was insane; it made no sense. He needed to leave, she was not some woman in a tavern he could just… do whatever this demented _thing_ was supposed to be. She was a princess and he was a pirate and most likely a wanted criminal.

She had her duties.

She was not dressed.

He was clad head to toe in _leather_ and was strutting around with his chest exposed like that was proper behavior.

"You have five minutes before I alert the guards," she said, looking at her toes.

He probably did this all the time—sneaking into castles and seducing all kinds of unsuspecting princesses. She would not be the next in a long list. But when she finally raised her eyes to look at him it felt like he was looking only at her, like he had never laid eyes on another woman before.

Then he shook his head to himself and said, "I was looking for a compass. I thought you might have it."

She did. She knew exactly what he was talking about. She had taken it the day he father finally allowed her on a ship and it was wrong and she knew one day the wrong people would come looking for it. It was gold and adorned with tiny jewels in purple and green. She had laid eyes on it and knew it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It wasn't a weapon, but it was still a man's utensil, because women were never going off on far off adventures and needing tools to navigate. She had been powerless to resist it, glinting in the sunlight and sitting at a table in a tavern she gone into. It was heavy in her tiny hand, she had to have been about ten years of age and her father and his guards had gone mad when they realized she had drifted off. And she was so tiny no one had noticed her in the tavern and by the time anyone noticed the compass was missing she was already safely aboard her father's vessel.

Now Killian Jones had climbed through her window looking for it.

More would follow, probably.

"Why would you think that?" she found herself asking, because she didn't know how anyone had traced it back to her. She hardly even removed it from her hiding spot for some irrational fear there was someone lurking over her shoulder ready to swipe it at any moment, leaving her dead in the wake. Sometimes she thought she could hear it ticking in the dead of night, which was preposterous, because compasses did not tick.

"Story," he said, "in a tavern."

She knew he was lying.

Worse, he knew she knew.

But before she could press him, there were footsteps in the hallway outside.

It felt like her stomach had its own pulse and when she turned back to Killian he had already reached the balcony's threshold. After ordering him out of her bedchamber since the moment he'd arrived, he was suddenly going, and she would probably never see him again. She couldn't explain why she felt ill at the thought, and why seeing him looking at her like she was the same as him made her feel something she had been pushing down for so long.

She didn't know how to say goodbye, how to comprehend what she was feeling and why she was feeling it. She would never know the story of his scar, or how he had become a pirate, what he had gone through to acquire original Picassos and Monets, and if he really had traveled to other realms. Because were there even other realms?

Her tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of her mouth. She was relived when he spoke first, just as there were voices in the hallway, "I trust we'll meet again, Emma Swan."

_We will? _She wanted to know, or was that how he ended all his complicated romantic entanglements?

_This isn't a romantic entanglement_, she scowled to herself, but somehow it felt like one.

"Say no to the prince." He added, which was entirely presumptuous of him, but she had been planning on it before he had barged into her life, uninvited and unannounced. He smiled at her like they both knew a delicious secret, so she took no offense at it.

"That dress," he added, winking, "is maddening."

"I will throw another dagger at you," she threatened.

"It will only endear you to me further, princess."

The door opened and Emma spun around to greet her maids who were already giggling about the impending prince.

"Miss Emma, he is the one," one of them declared, picking up her corset. "I feel it in my bones. The wind blows north today, it is a sign."

She had no idea what they were babbling about.

When Emma turned back around, Killian had already gone, her balcony devoid of any sign he had ever been there. She chastised herself, what had she been expecting? Footprints? Some tiny scrap of leather? A lock of his hair?

She slipped the dagger back into its spot and put on a false smile, making small talk and pretending she was excited to meet this prince. There would be a great ball that evening where she would be expected to attend for at least some time before she could slip away, and maybe instead of the library or blade work she would make her way down to the docks.

She slipped the ring Killian had picked out onto her finger—her thoughts drifting between the compass and the pirate who had climbed into her room.

It was amazing how he had been there one moment, when just before he hadn't and she had been content to stay exactly where she was. How had one man suddenly become such a force in her life when they had only exchanged a handful of words?

She gripped the bedposts as the corset was fastened, fitting tighter than a glove.

One encounter, a chance meeting she had predestined when she had stolen the compass.

She knew there was no going back.

* * *

**Hello! A review would be much appreciated :D I am thinking of adding to this, so I'd love to know what you guys think. Thanks so much for reading. Cheers!**


	2. Chapter 2

He was at the ball.

Emma knew it was him; it didn't matter he had somehow traded the leathers for a long brown coat and had wrangled up a mask to go with the theme of the evening. It was Killian Jones, she was sure.

He had the same swagger, the same confidence he possessed in her bedroom. Riffling through her jewelry, insulting her taste in art—it wasn't her taste and given the chance she would have flung a can of paint over the ridiculous thing to liven it up, but she was required to have everything approved by her father and the king was no connoisseur of the arts—like he had mistaken her room for the deck of his ship and _she_ was the intruder.

She first caught his eye during the fifth dance of the evening: a quick glimpse of blue and he was gone, lost in the crowd. She heard her own gasp sneak past her lips and craned her neck for any sign of him—but there was none.

Could she have imagined it?

Was she finally losing her mind?

Seeing eyes in a crowded room, where everyone was wearing masks, no less. Why would his blue eyes be identifiable? He was a pirate, no one of particular importance.

Shoving blue eyes and dancing pirates masquerading in brown coats out of her mind, she tried to return to where she was. The prince from the east—his name was impossibly hard to pronounce, so Emma had given up trying—had hogged up the two dances he was allowed, and then she had been passed from partner to partner, complimented and forced to make small talk in between the spins and handholding.

Her dress was heavy and extraordinarily tight. The room felt too stuffy, all the windows were shut, though they never opened, and so Emma wondered what the point of them was. The walls were decorated with the royal sigil, red and gold, as if the guests wouldn't remember which kingdom they had entered.

Two dances later she spotted him again, though this time he didn't disappear. She counted: he was four couples away. If she were his partner she would have been entirely put out.

His attention was fixed not on his dance partner, but solely upon her—but it shouldn't have surprised her. Not because she thought herself as stunning as to monopolize his undivided attention, but everything about their brief entanglement had been inappropriate, so their second meeting should not have been anything less.

She couldn't focus on what her partner was saying, something about the _lovely _music and this being his favorite dance style of the them all, though it always made him dizzy.

Emma was dizzy.

That had to be why she couldn't stop _staring._

Had his eyes always been that blue? What was blue, really? This wasn't blue like the sky or blue like the paint, this was something else entirely.

Her mind was turning into a puddle.

There was no contesting this notion.

A small smile played across his face, making her wonder if he already had intentions of showing up at the ball uninvited when he had bid goodbye to her only just that morning.

_I trust we'll meet again, Emma Swan._

Did he truly trust? Or did he have a plan?

Then she knew: the compass.

It crashed into her like an out of control carriage, flattening her into the ground. She knew now: he hadn't slinked back into the castle to see her.

Something deflated at this realization, something that shouldn't have even been inflated in the first place. But the compass was hers—it was the only piece of the life she lived in her head, the life that sustained her—, he would have to go through her if he wanted it.

She tore her eyes away, determined to evade him. When the song ended she curtsied and moved down the line, seeing the pirate in her periphery doing the same. He was trying to get closer. She had never been in want of a partner before, there were always plenty of suitors. For a horrifying second it seemed they had all disappeared, until a gentleman appeared in front of her, offering his hand and introducing himself as Mr. Knightley.

She nodded, noting that the pirate was now six couples away.

Mr. Knightley told her about his estate, Dunkirk Abbey, where the gardens were open for visitors because they were so miraculous. He said that people came from all over the world for a chance to see them, namely the kadupul flower that only bloomed under nightfall and died before the rising sun. Emma nodded appreciatively.

It was hard to see him from where she was, but she did not doubt he would be plotting his next move.

Mr. Knightley's hand was sweaty—so sweaty it was beginning to bleed through into her gloves. She smiled kindly, but on the inside felt like a storm was building. Her stomach twisted, her legs were slack and the dance raged on.

_David._ Her gaze landed on him, dressed in his guard's uniform and standing by the entrance to the ballroom. David would know what to do, he had always kept her secrets, taught her everything he could when it was imprudent to do so. He always looked like he was about to cry on her birthday, which was strange but she figured it was because the gossip among the guards was that his own daughter was killed shortly after she was born. She didn't know who his lover was, since he was always alone and must have cared for her very much if was still loyal to her memory and the death of their child still haunted him.

The song ended and Mr. Knightley bowed, about to ask her for the pleasure of a second dance, when a hand landed on her shoulder.

Damn him.

He was fast.

She turned around, unsurprised to find Killian Jones standing there. His face was still blooming with stubble, though shaving may have helped with disguising his identity. He still had an earring dangling from his lobe, making her wonder how much of an effort he had even put into this ruse.

He smirked at Mr. Knightley over her shoulder.

It was criminal to reject a request, so Emma squared her shoulders and curtsied.

He bowed, still smirking, probably exceedingly proud of himself.

The music began, a long violin followed by a lively piano jig.

"Who did you rob?" She asked him, her eyes trailing his freshly clothed figure. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her close, but she pushed back.

Was he trying to get them noticed?

She held out her hand, and he smiled to himself before reaching out his own, so that their palms met in the air. She took a step forward, and he followed, the two of them going around in a circle, surrounded by other dancing couples.

"I take offense, princess," he huffed, "I told you, I may be the richest man you've ever met."

"The prince from the north is quite wealthy. He has a fleet of ships that nears ten thousand. My father is also very rich, he has promised me anything I want. And then there's King Midas, who can turn anything into gold. He sent me a ring in a gold box only three days ago in a gold carriage pulled by golden horses," she returned, though she suspected it was just to elicit a rise out of him.

Killian snorted, but something passed between his eyes and his jaw clenched.

The dance continued and he kept staring at her, making her stomach turn, but she couldn't look away. She had barely eaten anything during dinner, but it felt like too much, like ridiculous butterflies were pushing it all back up. She didn't know what to say, how to break the ice. The music was like an oppressive puppet master, pulling their strings the way they were supposed to go.

It wasn't like they had anything to talk about: common interests—although there was art, weapons, and the sea—, shared personal history, or even friendly get to know you questions.

Because she wasn't supposed to get to know him.

The unspoken compass hung in the air between them.

"My, my," he started, after a few notes of silence had passed between them, "I don't know which I like better. That nightgown or—"

"Stop it," she cut him off, "Why are you here?"

"Now, Swan," he said grandly, "why can't we just enjoy this moment?"

"This is not a moment," she hissed, stealing a glance around them. No one had begun questioning whom she was dancing with—which was good—

No, it was bad. It was very bad. She was not supposed to be hoping to prolong this moment, to dance away with him into infinity.

She was supposed to be waiting for David to realize the pirate was a pirate and not a frilly prince.

Honestly, were those ruffles at his wrist?

"Isn't it?" He smiled, this thumb caressing hers as they danced. "I never took you for an in and out type of affair. I thought you'd want it slow and drawn out," he came closer, "to savor every moment... every touch."

"There's a time and place for both," she answered, adding, "_captain_."

He looked like he was about to implode.

Had she just beaten him at his own game?

He coughed once.

Scratched behind his ear.

"Why are you here?" Emma pressed, "All I have to do is yell 'pirate' and the guards will be on you in seconds."

"I'd much rather prefer it if you were all over me, princess."

She glared, "Watch it."

He smirked, his eyes flicking down before returning to her face, "I couldn't resist."

She rolled her eyes, which would have given her myriad etiquette instructors seizures. In between the saucy innuendos and thumb caressing, she wondered if this was all an elaborate ruse. Was his crew sneaking into her room at this exact moment with a super secret Compass Detector?

Her jaw clenched just as Killian said, "This is once fancy shindig."

She shrugged, "If you're used to drunk escapades on the deck of a boat. Then yes, I guess it is fancy."

Killian shook his head, his lips in a tight line before he said, "Always belittling me, princess. You'll see."

"See what? You'd have to tie me up yourself and drag me onto your ship to get me anywhere near that thing."

She saw something flash across his expression and then his face was suddenly much closer to hers as they turned slowly, and he said, "I have no qualms about tying you up, lass. It will be something, I can guarantee you, we will both enjoy. But my ship is a marvel and I cannot allow such blatant disregard for her."

It was Emma's turn to snort.

The music came to a close and Killian bowed low, those his eyes remained fixed on hers. "May I have the honor of a second dance, your holiness?"

She glared.

"To sate me," he added, "on my long voyage to come."

She should have said no. It was only proper to say no, given that he was a pirate and she was a princess. He was probably robbing her as they spoke.

But her lack of answer seemed to be a yes, because Killian wrapped her hand in his and glowered ferociously at an approaching lord, pulling her into the dance before the music even started.

Which got David's attention, the guard snapping into defense mode, looking at her for any sign of apprehension.

Emma offered a smile, wondering why she was keeping the pirate's secret and when she had become a slave to blue eyes and dirty innuendos. David seemed to relax, nodding at her once and then going off to staring at his designated point—which seemed to be the queen's throne.

"The burdens of being a sailor are harsh," Killian was saying, his voice wistful, "but the navy is my love."

Her eyes slid towards him and she offered a sardonic smile.

He went on.

"I will carry your image with me, think only of you—nay, dream only of you. Your smile shall sustain me, until the day I return home to you. And I will return, lass, I go to find a future for us, because you deserve all of the world's splendors."

"Does that work?" Emma demanded, trying her best to look unaffected. It was obvious he was laying it on thick, but a part of her suspected, when he really was trying, all he had to do was bat his eyes and he could get anyone to believe what he wanted them to.

"On occasion," he grinned. "Now, back to the matter at hand: the compass. I seek it." He looked her in the eye and said plainly, "You have it."

She was literally wearing a black mask across her eyes, but adopted a look of confusion, her new (and improved) mask. "I'm very sure I don't know what you're talking about, my dear pirate."

"The pet names will not work, lass." He assured her, though she did note the grin he was trying to suppress. "I need that compass."

"I wish I could be of service. I'm sure I could be very… _helpful._"

He stared at her lips for a long moment.

Emma tried to ignore the wobble in her legs.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Swan, don't make this harder than it has to be."

She clamped her lips together before she let something slip. The final turn of the dance came and something resembling panic flitted across his face. He wouldn't be able to hang onto her for another dance. He might not even get close to her again—unless she did what she always did and cut out early. If she was being pragmatic she should have stayed at the ball all night, that way the pirate would be powerless.

"Where can we meet?" He whispered.

She should have said nowhere.

She should have said anywhere.

She didn't know _what_ to say.

Every answer felt wrong.

"Swan," Killian pulled her closer as the song came to a close.

She bowed once, her eyes on his feet, and when she rose his jaw was clenched, but he did not follow her as she turned away.

She fanned herself, pretending she was exhausted from the dancing, and the crowd cheered, like she had just fought a great battle and was returning home victorious. She nodded at her father, who gave her a stiff smile in return. Immediately a goblet of wine appeared from a servant and she accepted it, taking a seat in between her parents.

Her mask stayed in place as she drank, hoping the alcohol would settle her nerves. She felt his hand on hers, searing through their gloves.

Did she regret not saying anything?

She didn't know.

She must have, because her eyes sought him out. Searching the crowd, she didn't realize her entire body had tensed, a pain shooting up her side as she stopped breathing. He couldn't have disappeared so quickly.

But he had.

* * *

**Yes, there's more to come. Thank you so much for your enthusiasm to this story! It wasn't even supposed to turn into a multi chapter fic. How awesome was tonight's episode? Please leave me a review, whether it's fangirling about 3x20 (because omg two "Come back to me" and Emma's desperate KILLIAN have just killed me) or anything you want to say about this bad boy! Also I fangirl on tumblr over the same name if you want to follow me there.**

**Cheers, shipmates! **


	3. Chapter 3

The compass was still there, hidden in the foot of armor that stood in the corridor leading to Emma's bedchamber. She held it in her hand, imagining handing it over to Killian Jones, who had more use for it than she ever would. But it felt heavy in her hand and fit perfectly, like it had always been meant for her possession.

The tiny hand that should have been pointing north spun like an out of control clock. Emma stared at it, waiting for it to settle, but it never did. _Fantastic,_ she thought, wondering what the pirate would say if he found out the compass he'd been searching for was totally useless.

It was ticking, some ridiculous part of her brain said, staring at the rotating hand. But there was no sound, no mysterious ticking noise. She was just being an idiot. Running her fingers over its face one last time, she returned it to its hiding place and got to her feet. She smoothed her dress, steadying herself as memories of dancing with the pirate overran her.

"Emma," came David's voice, before he cleared his throat and added, "My lady, Emma, are you all right?" He stepped into the light of the torch, his face half illuminated. His forehead was creased with worry and so Emma put him at ease by smiling.

"Yes, David," she said, noting his uniform. "Are you still on duty?"

"Indeed I am," he walked forward, "I've come to make sure you reached your chambers safely. A pirate ship was spotted docked at port."

_He's still here,_ her heart hammered traitorously. She should tell David, tell him the ship was none other than Killian Jones' and that he'd been in the castle on no less than two separate occasions. She knew exactly what he wanted. But the words were stuck in her throat, deep down, lodged in her esophagus and pressing sharply against her.

She opened her mouth, unsure of what she would say when David's voice cut across, at least a few octaves higher as he said, "My lady, Snow, good evening."

Emma turned, finding her mother approaching. She was still wearing her gown from the ball, a white puff of fabric that resembled a cotton ball, but her hair had been let down, hanging over her shoulders in a more casual manner than was normally fit to be seen.

But the queen was smiling, a big smile that revealed all her teeth and made her eyes crinkle, accentuating the lines on her face that told stories of a life filled with adventure and love, worry and stress, but most of all, pain that would forever remain a secret closely guarded. Emma felt unnoticed, invisible, between them, which was odd as David was the help and should have been the one ignored in such an encounter. After all, Snow never paid the rest of the guard staff such attention.

Emma could have turned up with Killian Jones at her side and neither of them would have batted an eye.

"Good evening, David," Snow finally greeted him, breaking the silence and bowing her head.

Emma raised an eyebrow—she thought she was the only one who called him David, instead of "general" or whatever his actual title was. But her own relationship with David had passed improper years ago with all the secret lessons and so it had just become easier to call him by name. But to hear her mother—

who suddenly looked close to tears, turning to look at Emma before turning back to David. It appeared to Emma that they were speaking to each other in a secret, silent manner only they were privy to.

"I can escort myself to bed," she said, looking at David. "Thank you for your concern." She spared a look at her mother, who had jumped at the intrusion into their clandestine conversation. "Good night, mother."

"Yes, goodnight, sweetheart," came Snow's halfhearted reply.

_That was odd,_ Emma shook her head, vowing to get to the bottom of whatever that was with the fresh sunrise. Tonight would be dedicated to reliving each and every moment of those dances—every word, every glance. Every touch. The feel of his skin and his breathe on her as she held the blade to his throat.

She was a horrible, dishonorable person.

She didn't care.

Her room was dark as she opened the door, but a candle came to life from her vanity and she was faintly able to make out the silhouette of Killian Jones.

Tempted to call for David, she instead reached for the tiny blade she kept glued to the side of the door. It would do nothing against his cutlass, but holding the miniscule metal in her hand made her feel better about her chances.

She could hardly see him and the floor creaked as he moved forward. She tried to follow his outline in the dark, holding her breath to not make a sound. His voice slithered around the room, straight into her heart.

_Don't be a moron_, she told herself.

"My, my, princess. We meet again."

"Quite a coincidence." She tried to be nonchalant, but her hands were shaking, the blade slipping in between her fingers like they were slicked with butter. Her heart was pounding, threatening to mute everything else in the room.

"I do not enjoy waiting, lass," he said, though not unkindly. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it seemed like he was getting closer, the floor mutinously having gone silent.

Something shifted in front of her. She decided to believe it was him.

"They've found your ship in the harbor," she blurted, wondering why was warning him. Maybe it was because she had just denied him hours ago after their dance and had to endure a horrible, scratching feeling in her stomach, like a small animal was trying to escape. She had searched the dance floor all night fruitlessly, but he never reappeared.

The thought of him in chains, walking to his death at the hands of the noose was unbearable.

After a beat, he responded, "I did not leave my ship in the harbor."

Something resembling panic gripped her and she clenched the blade in her hand tighter. Her gown was a hindrance, but she was stuck in it for the foreseeable future as Killian leapt forward, shielding her as the mirror shattered and a cavalcade of gunfire stormed her room.

They fell to the ground.

He swore in her ear, his stubble scratching her skin, reaching blindly at his waist for a weapon, his other hand grabbing hers and inching them across the room like a worm. They crawled towards the door, though they were not very far to begin with.

Emma looked around uselessly. The night's stars provided minimal light and the candle had gone out. She didn't think anyone had entered the room yet, but it wouldn't be much longer until they did. Killian reached up from the floor, gripping the doorknob and pulling it open.

Light spilled in from the hallway and the pirate's hand was warm on her back, sliding her into the corridor before scrambling out himself and towing it shut behind him.

Her gown trapped her legs and she kicked her shoes off before she broke an ankle. The corset was tight, her necklace constricting. She pushed herself up from the floor, trying to make sense of everything, when just moments ago she had been walking to her room after a typical evening. There was nothing to even hint at the sudden turn of events.

She was a princess and her bedroom was being overrun by pirates.

She must have been on the verge of a panic attack, because Killian gripped the back of her neck.

"Emma," he said, voice husky and out of breathe, eyes wide. A piece of glass had cut his forehead. "We need to go."

She nodded, unfit for words. The entire castle must have heard the attack, David would be leading a charge. If they found her with Killian it would not matter he had saved her life. The noose she saw in her mind choking the life out of him would become a reality.

They raced down the corridor, her bare feet slapping the floor. It sounded like the pirates had breeched her room, she heard crashing, like they were tearing it apart to find—

the compass.

She stopped, pulling Killian with her. She could _not_ lose the compass now.

It had been one long day of fretting over the blasted thing, first from Killian Jones taking it and then from others coming for it.

Well, others were coming for it.

He opened his mouth, probably to yell at her, and she could hear footsteps from the stairwell, followed by profuse shouting. "The compass!" she cut him off, wrenching her arm free and running back, towards the suit of armor.

Killian let out a string of colorful swear words before he arrived back at her side. "Princess, I am many things, mainly an excellent swordsman, but I don't know how many men I can fight off so outnumbered."

"You don't have to fight anyone, pirate," she dropped down, twenty feet from the door to her room and Killian positioned himself at her side, a pistol drawn and pointed at the door.

Her hands were shaking as she pried the foot of the armor free and Killian glanced down at her, an eyebrow raised, but his lips drawn shut.

The compass was cold in her hands, but she pulled it out, more relieved than she should have been since this thing had just become the source of all her problems.

"You hid the most powerful—" his indignation was cut short as the door of her bedchamber was thrown open and he fired his pistol, a body dropping to the floor just as more spilled out.

"Time to go," he reached behind, grabbing Emma's arm unseeingly and pulling her down the hallway.

"This way!" she led him, making a sharp right, which took them into tighter quarters, the servants' passageways. She thought about a place to hide, who she could trust, where she could lead Killian and send him on his way. But something inside her couldn't bring her to do it.

She had her out.

She wanted to go with him.

David would think she'd been kidnapped by pirates. He would lead a search party.

Something told her he would never stop.

Her mother would be devastated.

Her father would only care that his heir had disappeared.

The compass was in her hand, she felt it throbbing, like it had a pulse. That was probably her adrenaline playing tricks with her, though a part of her had always feared this moment was coming. She had just never imagined a handsome pirate would be holding her hand and jumping in front of bullets for her.

Once they reached the stairs Killian took charge, still holding her hand while pointing his pistol in front of them in case anyone had found a way to cut them off. He craned his neck to look at her, limping behind him, her hand that was not clasped in his still clutching the tiny blade and holding her dress up so she didn't trip and go spiraling down the stairs. The compass hung around her wrist, slapping her leg with every step.

His smile nearly made her lose her balance. Was there a reason he seemed so thrilled with himself?

"Do this often, princess?"

"Oh, yes," she snorted, "I'm a regular racketeer."

He winked.

"Where are we going?" she asked as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. There was a servants' exit not far and the idea of leaving had her rooted to the spot. She had imagined it, wished for it, and suddenly the moment was upon her. She had never quite pictured it under these circumstances, Killian Jones leading the way, her room being accosted by pirates.

Did she even want to? Could she do it?

Killian was staring at the compass and she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake following him instead of finding David.

_Of course she had,_ her mind screamed at her. He was a _pirate_. How did she know that wasn't _his_ crew that had attacked her room in an elaborate set up? She didn't know, she didn't know anything because she was a naïve little princess who had fallen under the charms of pretty eyes and some mediocre dancing.

His fingers were inches from the compass, like he wanted to stroke it appreciatively.

The blade in her hand was tiny and pathetic and sure to not frighten him, but she pointed it at him anyway. "Stand back," she warned, wincing at how weak she sounded.

"Not this again," he muttered, before holding up his hands. "Lass, we don't have time for this."

"Who were those men?" she asked sharply, wishing she had never taken the compass in the first place. They never would have found it in the armor. It would have been safe.

Killian rolled his eyes, "Blackbeard's crew, I suspect. Always were a nasty sort. No sense of decorum and always smelling distinctly of rotten cheese. Now," he pushed the blade away with his fingers, "Can we get on with it?"

"Get on with what?" she asked wearily, something shivering up her spine. She should call for David while she still had time.

He sidled closer, his nose brushing hers. His fingers ghosted across her arms and she wondered if he was about to kiss her, her ears still ringing from the gunfire and her legs weak from the running.

"With the adventure, love."

"I'm not…" she tried, but it was hard to focus with his lips so close to hers, his breath on her face, his body heat practically radiating onto her. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Come on, love," he whispered, his hands interlocking with hers. The compass was caged between their hands, ticking away their time. "I know there's a pirate in there somewhere."

"How dare—"

"I'll bring you back," he added, "But first the compass… you're going to use it, love."

She was never supposed to _use_ it. It was a memento, a collectible, a symbol. Not a _compass_ she would ever _use_ with _Killian Jones._

"EMMA!" David boomed from down the hall, making them spring apart. "Lower your weapon!" The last part was directed at Killian, who had his pistol raised.

Emma grabbed his arm, "No!"

He didn't shoot, but he locked eyes with her, just as David took off running towards them. "Make your choice, princess." He held up her hand, the one gripping the compass, and she expected him to wretch it out of her hand and take off.

But he was waiting.

She looked at David, who had stopped running and was now positioning his rifle.

She looked at Killian.

She made her choice.

* * *

**Oh, hey! I hope you liked the chapter. Please, please leave a review, they mean a lot. I don't envision an update before the finale (though never say never!), so if I don't talk to you till then, ENJOY THE 2HR CS MOVIE OF LOVE FINALE :D**


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